osc.am2.redprophet-第67章

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　　Alvin　looked　around。　She　was　right。　It　only　just　now　occurred　to　him　that　this　room　was　the　original　log　cabin；　with　its　one　remaining　window　casting　southern　light　into　the　room。　Around　it　the　walls　were　all　still　rough　old　wood；　he　just　hadn't　noticed；　from　all　the　cloth　draped　here　and　there；　hanging　on　hooks；　piled　up　on　furniture；　rolled　up　in　bolts。　A　strange　kind　of　cloth；　lots　of　color　in　it　but　the　color　making　no　pattern　or　sense；　just　weaving　this　way；　that　way；　changing　shades　and　colors；　a　broad　streak　of　blue；　a　few　narrow　strands　of　green；　all　twisting　in　and　out　of　each　other。
　　Somebody　came　into　the　room　to　answer　Becca's　bell；　an　older　man　from　the　sound　of　his　voice；　she　sent　him　for　food；　but　Alvin　didn't　even　know　what　he　looked　like；　he　couldn't　take　his　eyes　off　the　cloth。　What　was　so　much　cloth　for？　Why　would　somebody　make　it　such　a　bright　and　ugly　unorganized　set　of　colors？
　　And　where　did　it　end？
　　He　walked　over　to　where　maybe　a　dozen　bolts　of　cloth　were　standing　in　a　corner；　leaning　on　each　other；　and　he　realized　that　each　bolt　grew　out　of　the　one　before。　Somebody'd　taken　the　end　of　cloth　from　one　bolt　and　wrapped　it　around　itself　to　start　the　next　one；　so　the　cloth　spooled　off　the　end　of　one　bolt；　then　leapt　up　and　plunged　right　down　into　the　center　of　the　next；　one　after　the　other；　making　a　chain　of　fabric。　It　wasn't　a　bunch　of　different　cloths；　it　was　all　one　cloth；　rolled　up　until　it　was　almost　too　heavy　to　move；　and　then　the　next　bolt　started　right　up；　with　never　a　scissor　touching　the　cloth。　Alvin　began　to　wander　around　the　room；　his　fingers　tracing　the　pattern　of　the　cloth；　following　its　path　up　over　hooks　on　the　wall；　down　into　folds　stacked　up　on　the　floor。　He　followed；　he　followed；　until　finally；　just　is　the　old　man　returned　with　the　bread　and　cheese；　he　found　the　end　of　the　cloth。　It　was　feeding　out　the　front　of　Becca's　loom。
　　All　that　time；　Ta…Kumsaw　had　been　talking　to　Becca　in　his　Isaac　voice；　and　she　to　him　in　her　deep　melodious　way　of　speech；　which　had　just　the　slightest　hint　of　foreignness　to　it；　like　some　of　the　Dutch　in　the　area　around　Vigor　Church；　who'd　been　in　America　all　their　lives　but　still　had　a　trace　of　the　old　country　in　their　talk。　Only　now；　with　Alvin　standing　by　the　loom　and　the　food　on　a　low　table　with　three　chairs　around　it；　only　now　did　he　pay　attention　to　what　they　were　saying；　and　that　only　because　he　wanted　so　badly　to　ask　Becca　what　all　this　cloth　was　for；　seeing　as　how　she　must　have　been　weaving　at　it　for　more　than　a　year；　to　have　it　so　long；　without　never　once　taking　shears　to　it　to　make　something　out　of　it。　It　was　what　Ma　always　called　a　shameful　waste；　to　have　something　and　make　no　use　of　it；　like　Dally　Framer's　pretty　singing　voice；　which　she　sang　with　all　day　at　home　but　wouldn't　ever　join　in　singing　hymns　at　church。
　　〃Eat；〃　said　Ta…Kumsaw。　And　when　he　spoke　so　bluntly　to　Alvin；　his　voice　lost　that　Englishness；　he　was　the　real　Ta…Kumsaw　again。　It　set　Alvin's　mind　to　rest；　knowing　that　there　wasn't　some　witchery　at　work；　that　Ta…Kumsaw　just　had　two　different　ways　of　talking；　but　of　course　that　also　set　more　questions　into　Alvin's　mind；　about　how　Ta…Kumsaw　ever　learned　such　talk。　Alvin　never　even　heard　so　much　as　a　rumor　about　Ta…Kumsaw　having　White　friends　in　Appalachee；　and　you'd　think　a　tale　like　that　would　be　known。　Though　it　wasn't　hard　to　guess　why　Ta…Kumsaw　wouldn't　want　it　noised　around　much。　What　would　all　those　het…up　Reds　think　if　they　saw　Ta…Kumsaw　here　and　now？　What　would　it　do　to　Ta…Kumsaw's　war？
　　And　e　to　think　of　it；　how　could　Ta…Kumsaw　wage　such　a　war；　if　he　had　true　White　friends　like　the　folk　of　this　valley？　Surely　the　land　was　dead　here；　at　least　as　the　Reds　knew　it。　How　could　Ta…Kumsaw　bear　it？　It　left　such　a　hunger　in　Alvin　that　even　though　he　packed　bread　and　cheese　down　his　throat　till　his　belly　poked　out；　he　still　felt　a　gnawing　inside　him；　a　need　to　get　back　to　the　woodland　and　feel　the　song　of　the　land　inside　himself。
　　The　meal　was　filled　with　Becca's　pleasant　chatter　about　doings　in　the　valley；　her　saying　names　that　meant　nothing　to　Alvin；　except　any　one　of　them　could　have　been　the　name　of　a　body　back　in　Vigor　Church　　there　was　even　folks　named　Miller；　which　was　natural；　seeing　how　a　valley　this　size　no　doubt　had　more　than　one　miller's　worth　of　grain　to　grind。
　　The　old　man　came　back　to　clear　away。
　　〃Did　you　e　to　see　my　cloth？〃　asked　Becca。
　　Ta…Kumsaw　nodded。　〃That's　half　why　I　came。〃
　　Becca　smiled；　and　led　him　to　the　loom。　She　sat　on　her　weaving　stool　and　gathered　the　newest　cloth　up　into　her　lap。　She　started　about　three　yards　from　the　lip　of　the　loom。
　　〃Here；〃　she　said。　〃The　gathering　of　your　folk　to　Prophetstown。〃
　　Alvin　saw　how　she　passed　her　hand　over　a　whole　bunch　of　threads　that　seemed　to　climb　out　of　their　proper　warp　and　migrate　across　the　cloth　to　gather　up　near　the　edge。
　　〃Reds　from　every　tribe；〃　she　said。　〃The　strongest　of　your　people。〃
　　Even　though　the　fibers　tended　to　be　greenish；　they　were　indeed　heavier　than　most　threads；　strong　and　taut。　Becca　fed　the　cloth　farther　down　her　lap。　The　gathering　grew　stronger　and　clearer；　and　the　threads　turned　brighter　green。　How　could　threads　change　color　that　way？　And　how　with　the　machinery　of　the　loom　could　the　warp　shift　like　that？
　　〃And　now　the　Whites　that　gathered　against　them；〃　she　said。
　　And　sure　enough；　another　group　of　threads；　tighter　to　start　with；　but　gathering；　knotting　up　a　little。　To　Alvin's　eyes　it　looked　like　the　cloth　was　a　ruin；　the　threads　all　tangled　and　bunched　　who'd　wear　a　shirt　made　of　such　stuff　as　that？　　and　the　colors　made　no　sense；　all　jumbled　together　without　no　effort　to　make　a　pattern　or　any　kind　of　regular　order。
　　Ta…Kumsaw　reached　out　his　hand　and　pulled　the　cloth　toward　himself。　Pulled　until　he　exposed　a　place　were　all　those　pure　green　threads　just　went　slack　and　then　stopped；　most　of　them。　The　warp　of　the　cloth　was　spare　and　thin；　then；　maybe　one　thread　for　every　ten　there　used　to　be；　like　a　worn…down　raggedy　patch　in　the　elbow　of　an　old　shirt；　so　when　you　bent　your　elbow　maybe　a　dozen　threads　made　lines　across　your　skin　one　direction；　and　no　threads　at　all　the　other　way。
　　If　the　green　threads　stood　for　Prophetstown；　there　couldn't　be　no　mistake　what　was　going　on　here。　〃Tippy…Canoe；〃　Alvin　murmured。　Now　he　knew　the　order　of　this　cloth。
　　Becca　bent　over　the　cloth　and　tears　dropped　from　her　eyes　straight　down　on　it。
　　Tearless；　Ta…Kumsaw　pulled　the　cloth　again；　steadily。　Alvin　saw　the　rest　of　the　green　threads；　the　few　that　remained　from　the　massacre　at　Tippy…Canoe；　migrate　to　the　edge　of　the　cloth　and　stop。　The　cloth　was　narrower　by　that　many　threads。　Only　now　there　was　another　gathering；　and　the　threads　were　not　green。　They　were　mostly　black。
　　〃Black　with　hate；〃　said　Becca。　〃You　are　gathering　your　people　with　hate。〃
　　〃Can　you　imagine　conducting　a　war　with　love？〃　asked　Ta…Kumsaw。
　　〃That's　a　reason　to　refuse　to　make　war　at　all；〃　she　said　gently。
　　〃Don't　talk　like　a　White　woman；〃　said　Ta…Kumsaw。
　　〃But　she　is　one；〃　said　Alvin；　who　thought　she　made　perfect　sense。
　　They　both　looked　at　Alvin；　Ta…Kumsaw　impassively；　Becca　with　amusement？　Pity？　Then　they　returned　to　the　cloth。
　　Very　quickly　they　came　to　where　the　cloth　hung　over　the　beam；　then　fed　out　of　the　loom。　Along　the　way；　the　black　threads　of　Ta…Kumsaw's　army　worked　closer　together；　knotted；　intertwined。　And　other　threads；　some　blue；　some　yellow；　some　black；　all　gathered　in　another　place；　the　fabric　bunching　up　something　awful。　It　was　thicker；　but　it　didn't　seem　to　Alvin　that　it　was　a　speck　stronger。　Weaker；　if　anything。　Less　useful。　Less　trustworthy。
　　〃This　cloth　ain't　going　to　be　worth　much；　if　this　goes　on；〃　said　Alvin。
　　Becca　smiled　grimly。　〃Truer　words　were　never　spoken；　lad。〃
　　〃If　this　is　about　a　year's　worth　of　story；〃　said　Alvin；　〃you　must　have　two　hundred　years　all　gathered　up　here。〃
　　Becca　cocked　her　head。　〃More　than　that；〃　she　said。
　　〃How　do　you　find　out　all　that's　going　on；　to　make　it　all　go　into　the　cloth？〃
　　〃Oh；　Alvin；　there's　some　things　folks　just　do；　without　knowing　how；〃　she　said。
　　〃And　if　you　change　the　threads　around；　can't　you　make　things　go　differ